


Terms and Conditions

by Omni



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Bedazzled - Freeform, Crossover, Derek is Satan, F/M, LITERALLY, Leather Trousers, M/M, Tropes, stiles learns what love is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-30
Updated: 2014-03-30
Packaged: 2018-01-17 12:43:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1388092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Omni/pseuds/Omni
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles was just a lowly tech support drone, friendless and suffering unrequited love.  Then a handsome, mysterious stranger offers him a once-in-a-lifetime chance of changing all that.  It'll only cost him his soul.</p><p>Wishes never turn out like we expect, however, and Stiles learns the striking difference between love and a crush.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Terms and Conditions

**Author's Note:**

> This is a Sterek rendition of the movie _Bedazzled_. That's one of my favorite comedies ever, so I hope y'all feel I did it justice (or at least didn't do it insult). While Stiles indeed starts off being all about Lydia, please keep in mind that this is not a Stydia tale.
> 
> This was beta-ed by the wonderful [Mynuet](http://mynuet.tumblr.com). She is a wonderful person, and I highly recommend following her if you'd like to have your life brightened.

“Jesus, Stilinski!” Erica held her arms out and looked from her coffee-soaked blouse to Stiles, murder in her eyes. “Would it fucking kill you to actually watch where you’re going?”

“I’m sorry! Shit!”

“Stilinski! Language. This is a professional work environment,” chided his supervisor, Jackson, a hint of a smug little smirk teasing at the corner of his mouth as he crossed his arms. 

Stiles looked at him in indignation, opening and closing his mouth but knowing any words he said wouldn’t matter. Ducking his head, Stiles just gave in without a fight while tamping down on his anger. “Sorry, sir.”

Jackson rolled his eyes, waving Stiles off. “Just get to your station, Stilinski, before you cause any more problems.”

“And you owe me a new blouse, asshole,” Erica growled, trying in vain to wipe off the mess with a flimsy napkin. 

He perked up a bit when he got to his cubicle, noticing that Isaac was just arriving. The guy wasn’t as much of a prick as some of the others there, and Stiles was pretty sure that with a little more work they’d be well on their way to Friendsville. “Hey, man! A scarf again? Tell that vampire you’re dating to lay off, am I right!” Stiles laughed at his own joke, playfully punching Isaac in the arm as the man moved to pass by him on the narrow path.

“Never gets old!” Isaac shot back, smacking Stiles perhaps a little too hard on his back in response. “Would love to stay and chat, man, really. But, you know, gotta work if I want to eat.” 

“Yeah, no, sure! Absolutely. Though, maybe you wanna get together later, have a few beers, pick up some hotties at the bar?” Stiles tried to keep the pathetic note of desperate hope out of his voice and affect an air of nonchalance. By the way Isaac looked a bit like he’d just swallowed a mouthful of tortilla chips without properly chewing, Stiles guessed he was not succeeding. 

“Sounds like it’d be real fun. Honestly. But, I kind of already have a thing planned.”

“With the vampire?” Stiles tried to save face, laughing and nudging and willing Isaac to please just relax and give him a chance. Stiles was a great friend, he’d see! 

Isaac gave a little laugh that Stiles refused to believe was faked, and clapped him on the back again. “Yeah, exactly. So…”

“No, no, I get it. Another time.”

“Right.” 

Stiles also refused to believe Isaac was fleeing as he practically ran to his own cubicle and away from Stiles. He sighed and turned around, only to find Boyd about to pass. Before Stiles could even open his mouth to greet him, Boyd said a sharp “No” and breezed right past. Just what the fuck was up with the people in this company, seriously? Stiles was awesome. He was beyond awesome. He was, like, the grand prize of friends. The perfect BFF. They only had to see it for themselves. Somehow. 

Sighing, Stiles plopped himself down into his seat and prepared himself for yet another day of idiotic customers forgetting how to plug a computer in.

\---

Isaac might not have wanted to go with him, but Stiles was damned if he wasn’t washing the taste of his shitty day out of his mouth with a few beers. Maybe he’d get lucky and someone in this damn city would actually want to talk to him for a change. Even if he went home alone, he’d at least like to make a _friend_.

He was one and half beers in before _she_ walked in. Lydia Martin. Head of Wolf Fire’s R &D, and the most beautiful goddess to ever deign to set foot on mortal soil. Of all the bars in all the city, she chose the one Stiles was moping in. It had to be fate. Destiny. A sign from God. This was his chance, his one real chance to talk to her and win her over with his sarcastic wit and unique charm.

Downing the rest of his beer--a little liquid courage never hurt--Stiles took a deep breath and took the plunge. Luckily, she seemed to be alone, which meant Stiles wouldn’t have to deal with any overprotective friends inserting themselves into conversation. She had just reached the bar when Stiles approached her, and she hadn’t seemed to notice him yet. “Lydia?” he prompted, which managed to get her to look at him.

She eyed him appraisingly, but displayed no sign of recognition. “I’m sorry, you are?”

“Stiles. I work at Wolf Fire, too, down in customer support. We met once, like, a while back. We were both on the elevator, and we had a little chat about the weather.” He smiled at her, but she continued to give him a bland, disinterest look. “Uh, I said it was hot out, and you agreed. Well, I assume you agreed. You made a little agreeable humming sound.” He was losing her, he could tell, her eyes sliding away to scan the rest of the room behind him. “Ah, so, I read about the work you did on the new Arctic Fox OS, and all I gotta say is wow. Seriously, amazing job.”

That, at least, earned a sweet, breathtaking smile. The dim lights of the bar changed her strawberry blond hair to dark rosewood, with little flickers of flame as the strands shifted and gleamed. “Thank you. My team and I are very proud of it.” 

“Good. Great! You should! Because, like I said, amazing stuff. Really. So, um, can I buy you a drink? To, like, celebrate the completion of the new project and everything.” Oh yeah, that was totally smooth. He totally worked that.

But, Lydia was giving him apologetic eyes and touching his arm--TOUCHING HIS ARM--with her soft hand. “Oh, that sounds wonderful, Kyle, but my friends just got here, and I promised to hang out with them tonight. Maybe some other time.” She blessed him with another smile as she slipped around him and made her way towards a group of girls who had just entered the bar. 

So mesmerised was he by her smile that it took him a few beats to realize she’d called him by the wrong name. With a sigh, he turned back to the bar and leaned against the counter. Who was he fucking kidding? She was way out of his league. Hell, she was playing a totally different ballgame. What could a loser like him have to offer a beautiful, successful person like her? “I’d seriously give _anything_ for a chance with her,” he mumbled morosely at the stained, sticky wood beneath his elbows. 

A glass was set in front of him with a dark amber liquid, and it had him jerking upright with a start. “I didn’t order this,” he called after the bartender as the man walked away. 

“I did.” There was a guy sitting beside him that Stiles would swear hadn’t been there just a second ago. Turning, Stiles was dumbstruck by how utterly, devastatingly gorgeous the man was. Seriously, he looked like he had just stepped off the glossy pages of a magazine where he was trying to sell overly-expensive cologne by being everything you could ever want to be or ever want to fuck. Sinfully tight black denim hugged long, perfectly muscled legs, and artfully accentuated an ass so fine the Pope would give up the cloth just for the chance to touch it. Then there was the torso. The broad-shouldered torso with toned pecs and six-pack abs, all encased in clingy, deep red fabric. His arms looked made for either holding you gently or pinning you down while he followed every gasping demand for _harder, deeper_. His jaw was chiseled and covered with dark stubble that was two days away from being a beard. Those _eyes_ , though. What color were they, even? They stared back at Stiles, framed by artfully tousled black hair, and seemed to be alight with amusement and interest. Interest. In _Stiles_. That was a first in this city.

“Oh. Um. Thanks.” Stiles managed to tear his gaze away from the walking wet dream and look back at the offered drink. It looked like maybe whiskey. He picked it up and took a sniff. Smelled like whiskey. Only, not like any Jack or Johnny Walker he’d ever had. Something smokier, maybe peatier. Giving the stranger a quick glance, he chanced a sip, then stared down at the drink in shock at how smooth it went down, barely burning at all. 

The stranger smirked at Stiles’ obvious delighted surprise, draping himself against the bar in a way that had Stiles almost looking around for photographers. “You like that?” Those stunning eyes flicked down to Stiles’ lips for a moment, the man’s mouth stretching into a sexy grin. “Thought you might. You look like someone who deserves the very best.” He glanced over towards Lydia then back at Stiles, tilting his head a little. “Like her.”

Turning his head before tearing his eyes away from the man in order to glance over at Lydia, Stiles cast him a questioning look. “Are you saying I deserve the very best like _she_ deserves the very best, or are you saying that’s she’s what I deserve?”

Lips ticking into a smirk, the stranger shook his head and pushed off from the bar. “I’m truly shocked that you’re still single.”

Stiles squinted a glare at him. “You have a really strange way to hit on people.”

The stranger’s grin was stunning as he turned to fully face Stiles, moving into his space until Stiles was pressed back against the bar. “Oh, was I hitting on you?”

“Well, you bought me a drink. An expensive drink, judging by the taste. And, currently you are pressed all up against me like whoa, so yeah. I’d say you were. Are. Hitting on me.” Stiles swallowed, his mouth still filled with the delicious taste of the expensive scotch, and each inhalation filled with the man’s amazing scent. The man pushed even closer, insinuating a thigh between Stiles’ legs and leaning in until his mouth was practically at Stiles’ ear. “See? You’re getting all up on this, and we haven’t even introduced ourselves. Your pick-up skills are lacking, man.”

“Pleased to meet you,” purred the man, and damn if it didn’t make Stiles shudder. “Hope you guess my name.”

Stiles squinted again and popped his lips as no words could be found to respond to such ridiculousness. Eventually he offered a confused, “I don’t know, is it Sean? Or, how about Derek? Yeah, you look like a Derek to me.”

The stranger pulled back to give him a strange look, as if _Stiles_ was the one acting weird. “Seriously? How did _you_ not catch that reference?”

Stiles looked at him, trying not to get distracted by his pretty eyes. “That was a reference?”

Those eyes were even prettier when they scowled. “To a song.”

“Is this going to be another guessing game?”

The stranger actually looked a little pained, and he stepped back fully out of Stiles’ space. “Right, okay, I think it’s time we just skip the bullshit and get down to business.”

“To defeat the Huns?” Stiles grinned at him with a little eyebrow action as if pointing out that _see, this is how a reference is made_. A second later, the stranger’s words seemed to sink in and he recoiled, raising his hands palms-out. “Whoa now, hold up. Business? While I’m sure you provide some mind-blowing services, that’s not my bag. My dad’s a sheriff back home, and the last thing he needs is to hear about his son getting busted for soliciting.”

Aaaand, back to scowling. “I’m not a prostitute, Stiles.”

“Wait, how did you know my--”

“I know a lot about you. I know that you couldn’t wait to get away from your small town life and move to the big city. I know that every night you go home, alone, and stare at the TV over your dinner of cold take-out, and you try not to cry. I know that whenever your father calls to check in on you, you lie to him and tell him how many friends you have, how _happy_ you are. I know that you would give _anything_ to change all that.” The way the stranger was looking at him, it felt as if he was seeing beyond the surface, drilling deep, deep until he was examining Stiles’ very core.

The countertop pressed painfully against Stiles’ back as he tried to move further away from the guy. “That’s incredibly creepy and stalkerish, dude. Like, seriously.”

Snorting a little huff of incredulous laughter, the guy shook his head. “You still don’t realize who I am?” He pulled a card out of nowhere--certainly not from one of his pockets, since his pants were too tight for even that thin piece of cardstock to fit--and handed it to Stiles. It simply read “The Devil” in fine, blood red script. 

“Wow. Dude, you are even more out there than I thought. Okay. I’m just gonna gooooo…” Trying to step slowly and not make any sudden moves, Stiles edged around him. Surprisingly, the guy let Stiles slip past him and towards the door. Stiles kept casting glances back at him, but the guy just stood there at the bar, watching him with an amused little smirk. 

Once fully out the door, Stiles decided it was safe to stop looking back over his shoulder, but then nearly had a heart attack when he turned to find the guy lounging against a glossy black Lamborghini Diablo. What was even more alarming was that the guy had somehow changed his clothes from the split-second Stiles had seen him last. He was wearing leather pants that were a red so deep they seemed almost black, and a matching jacket that was unzipped far enough to show that there was no shirt underneath. Only smooth, perfect muscle was visible, and it was almost enough to distract Stiles from the _What the hell_ aspect of it all. 

“Come on, Stiles. Let’s take a ride.”

\---

Stiles had been to a few night clubs, especially once he moved to the city. He had always been disappointed, however. He’d been turned off by the annoyingly loud, shitty music, the piss-poor lighting, and all of the people who didn’t give him a second glance. DV8 was different. The music playing was all his favorite bands, one right after the other, and wasn’t oppressively loud. The lights were just bright enough that you could see everyone clearly. Best of all, everyone noticed him.

“Stiles!” they all cried, smiling at him, reaching for him, shoving each other aside in attempts to be closer to him. For one dizzying moment, it was like a heavenly dream.

Then, the sheer creepiness of it kicked in.

“Dude, this is so messed up. How much are you paying these people to maintain your delusion?”

The so-called Devil rolled his eyes and placed his palm flat at the small of Stiles’ back in order to lead him through the crowd. It was a nice feeling, that touch. Stiles felt pleasantly warm at the spot of contact, and he was almost tempted to lean into it. He had to remind himself that this guy was insane and _not_ someone he wanted to have touching him. 

Stiles was taken to what seemed to be an office, made of gleaming black marble and brushed steel. The Devil motioned for him to have a seat in front of the massive black desk, before making his way around it to sit in a seriously comfy looking blood red swivel chair. With a start, Stiles realized that the man had changed his clothes again, and was wearing a tailored black suit over a burgundy shirt. 

“So, Mr. Stilinski, I have a deal for you.” The Devil steepled his fingers and grinned, and for a moment Stiles was completely convinced that this was real and not an elaborate trick. This guy was just too gorgeous to be human. 

Ever the skeptic, though, Stiles smirked wryly and leaned back in his chair. “Shouldn’t you have met me at some crossroads for this?”

That made The Devil’s eyes gleam in amusement, his grin going from predatory to almost friendly, as if they were sharing an inside joke. “Why? Do you want to be a famous blues musician?”

Stiles snorted out a shocked little laugh, shaking his head. “Not particularly, no.”

The Devil let out a contemplative hum, leaning forward a bit over the desk, hands still clasped together. “What _do_ you want, Stiles? What would bring you happiness?”

Shaking his head again, Stiles gave him a slanted grin. “No way, man. I’ve seen enough movies to know that things like this always end badly.”

“But movies are fiction. This is real.”

A strange shiver ran up Stiles’ spine, and suddenly it was as if a switch had been flicked. This was real. This was _real_. This wasn’t some elaborate prank, wasn’t the work of Broadway costuming magic or hired extras. The man across from him was seriously not human. 

As if reading Stiles’ thoughts, The Devil grinned wide again, his eyes going from the complex mix of pale shades to a bright, glowing red. The teeth in that grinning mouth suddenly looked a little too sharp. Stiles felt his heart trying to pound free of its restraints and burst from his chest. “Oh my God,” he choked, muscles tightening as his brain tried to calculate whether or not it would matter should he try to run.

“God? Oh, you flatter me.” The Devil (The _Devil_!) smiled, teeth and eyes back to normal. “Now,” he said calmly, picking up a tablet in front of him and reaching forward to set it down in front of Stiles, “let’s talk terms and conditions.”

Stiles looked down at the glowing screen, mind still reeling. “This says I’m on page one of five-thousand pages.”

The Devil grinned, leaning back in his chair with a prideful set to his shoulders. “The people at Apple owed me a few favors, so I had them write this up for me.”

“Well, there’s an option to have it emailed to me. That’s...nice.”

“It’s all pretty straight forward. I give you six amazing, anything-goes wishes, and afterwards you give me your soul.” The Devil smiled at him as if this was all a done deal.

Stiles, on the other hand, was glaring flatly back at him. “You seriously think I’m going to give you my soul.”

“No.” Rolling his pretty eyes, The Devil got out of his chair and walked around his desk to be on the same side as Stiles. He kept a fair distance between them though, crossing his arms and propping a hip on the desk. “You’ll be selling it to me, not giving it. There’s a difference. In any case, why would it matter? Do you even know what a soul is?”

That question threw Stiles for a moment, and he scrunched up his face while waving vaguely at himself. “Isn’t it, like, me? My me-ness?”

“Is it? Or is it simply some sort of undefinable energy or essence that I must obtain to sustain me and my seemingly infinite power?” The Devil’s smile then was smug as he watched Stiles ponder that over. “In any case, we’re not here to discuss metaphysics. We’re here to discuss your happiness.”

“Which you can’t help with.”

“You sure about that?” asked The Devil, giving the tablet a significant glance just as the familiar tone of a Skype call rang out. 

Stiles stared at the screen in trepidation for a minute, not sure he wanted to see whatever new parlor trick the guy had in store for him. Finally, he reached out and tapped to answer the call. Immediately Lydia Martin’s face filled the screen, her perfect smile radiant. 

“Stiles,” she cooed, a teasing lilt to her voice, “why are you keeping me waiting? Don’t you want to be with me?”

Tearing his eyes away from the tablet’s screen, Stiles glared daggers up at The Devil. “Oh, you _are_ evil. The stories are certainly right about that.”

The Devil didn’t seem to mind the venom in Stiles’ voice, just moved closer, leaning over his shoulder so that his chin was practically resting there. Lips barely brushing at Stiles’ ear, he said, “You can have her, you know. You can have love and friendships. You don’t have to be alone anymore. Never again. I can give that to you. All you have to do is accept the deal.”

Eyes on the screen, Stiles watched Lydia smile encouragingly up at him. He felt The Devil’s warm breath on his ear and neck. Part of him knew it was crazy, that he shouldn’t accept, but another part of him was louder. That part that had been so alone for so long, and was sad and hurting. His fingers shook a little as he swiped at the screen, bringing the contract back up. He ticked the box that said he read and understood the contract, then clicked the “Accept” button. A screen came up with a line for him to sign his name, and The Devil passed him a sleek black-and-red stylus as he finally moved out of Stiles’ space. As soon as Stiles dotted the last i, an ominously flame-themed “Thank You” flashed across the screen before the tablet vanished from his hands.

“Excellent,” purred The Devil. “Now, let’s talk about safewords.” He slid to sit on the desk in front of Stiles, wearing nothing but tight, black leather pants and black leather gloves, a riding crop in his hand. Touching the flexible leather end of the riding crop beneath Stiles’ chin, The Devil instructed him silently to tilt his head up for a better look. He set one booted foot on the right armrest of the chair, providing Stiles with a tantalizing view right at eye-level. 

“Safewords?” Stiles asked around a hard swallow, having a difficult time keeping his eyes up and focused on The Devil’s face. 

Those leather gloves were soft and supple, and made Stiles’ eyelashes flutter a little as they caressed along his cheeks. “On the off chance that something should go wrong in one of your wishes. It’s my job to make sure you’re safe and happy, after all. So, if you don’t like how it’s going, for whatever reason, we’ll need a way for you to communicate that to me. A word or phrase.”

“Any word or phrase?” It was hard for Stiles to think clearly while The Devil continued to touch him and look down at him with such hunger in his eyes. 

A gloved thumb caressed over Stiles’ bottom lip, leaving the faint taste of leather behind. “Something that you would never say, under normal circumstances,” The Devil explained.

Stiles pulled his head back and out of The Devil’s reach, feeling the soft-gloved fingers slip along and off his skin. “Nic Cage is a great actor,” he said, meeting The Devil’s eyes with a smirk.

That earned a bubble of surprised, delighted laughter out of The Devil, who then grinned back at Stiles, totally with him on the joke. “That’s perfect.”

“You didn’t have anything to do with that, did you?”

Holding his hands up, The Devil quickly responded, “Not my fault, no. I’m just as baffled as you are by his success.” They shared another grin, before The Devil stood from the desk, his clothing shifting back to the black and burgundy suit. “Now then, what’s your first wish?” 

“Whoa, already?”

The Devil raised his eyebrows and tilted his head. “You have something better to do right now?”

Stiles snorted and shook his head, looking up at The Devil with a slanted grin. “Yeah, I guess not. Alright then, how exactly does this work?”

“Think of how you could make your life better, and wish for it. What would you change about your life? What sort of life would you _rather_ have?” 

It seemed simple enough, but Stiles couldn’t really think of what exactly needed to be changed. “My job could be different, I guess,” he finally said, more mumbling to himself than anything. 

“That’s certainly a start. What sort of job would you rather have?” asked The Devil, going back around the desk again to resume his seat.

“Something important,” said Stiles, nodding a little. 

The Devil tsked in sympathy. “Not feeling like you’re doing much to change the world by reminding people that their computers work better if they’re plugged in?”

Stiles snickered, the two of them sharing another smirk. “Not exactly, no.” He tilted his head back and stared blankly up at the black-and-red marbled ceiling while he thought. “Okay, so something important. Something that can change lives. I want people to respect me, too.” Lifting his head from the back of the chair, Stiles looked at The Devil. “I wish that I had an important job, that commands respect and authority, and which provides me the resources I need to treat Lydia like the queen she is.”

Grinning, The Devil raised one of his hands off his desk and snapped his fingers. “As you wish.”

\---

The warm sun was like a caress across his cheeks and closed eyes, slowly bringing him to wakefulness. Blinking his eyes open, Stiles took in the sight of the massive four-poster bed he was in, with its dark, glossy wood and intricate carvings. Beneath his head was the most luxurious pillow he’d ever experienced, encased in a fabric softer than any silk he’d ever felt. His body was cocooned in perfect, fluffy warmth. It was heaven. This bed was crafted by fucking _angels_.

Beside him, someone made a soft, sleepy sound, which startled Stiles up into a sitting position. What he saw nearly had him falling out of the giant bed in shock. There lay Lydia, fiery hair falling in a gentle cascade against the sinfully decadent pillows. Her skin looked porcelain in the morning light, with a soft rosy blush high on each cheek. Then, of course, were her red, full lips, curling up just slightly at the corners as she dreamed something wonderful. 

Stiles didn’t think he’d ever seen her look more beautiful. Not wanting to wake her from such pleasant dreams, he silently slipped out of the bed and began exploring his new surroundings. Judging from the stone floors, walls, and ceiling, Stiles determined he was in a castle. The thick, colorful tapestries hanging on the walls had his brain conjuring up long-forgotten lectures from an art history class. 

“Did I get sent back in time?” he whispered, reaching out to touch one of the tapestries which displayed a seven-headed dragon curled protectively at the feet of a king. Stiles squinted at the image of the monarch, feeling as though he was familiar. “Holy shit,” he gasped, stumbling back to get a full look. “That’s _me_.”

It was then that a soft rapping caught his attention, and he followed it through an arched doorway and into what he assumed were the rest of his chambers. As he made his way to the heavy wooden door at the far end, he passed a desk and table, and so many plush chairs and lounges that he reckoned he could comfortably hold a party there. 

When he opened the door, he was thrown to find Boyd on the other side. Instead of the business casual that Stiles was used to seeing him in, Boyd was decked out in full armor. The metal gleamed pale silver in the light, and a crest bearing the same seven-headed dragon from the tapestry was etched across the breastplate. Boyd gave a bow at the waist upon seeing that it was Stiles who answered. “Your Majesty,” he greeted, eyes still downcast.

“Er...at ease?” Stiles ventured, unsure what the proper response was. 

Boyd’s shoulders lost their tension, but he gave Stiles a dubious look. “Your Majesty, the council is readying, and eagerly await your presence.”

“Council?” he asked blankly, but then as he saw Boyd look even more uncertain, Stiles quickly nodded. “The council! Right, right! Of course. Let’s go!”

“Begging Your Majesty’s pardon, but…” Boyd nodded pointedly down at Stiles’ body.

Brows crinkled in confusion, Stiles looked down, then immediately felt himself blush to the tips of his ears. He was dressed in a thin cotton dressing gown and nothing else. “Right. I’ll...just get dressed. You go on and tell the council I’ll be there shortly.”

Boyd gave him one last doubtful look before bowing low and walking away down the hall. No sooner had Stiles closed the door, when a tapestry was swishing aside to reveal a blond-haired woman entering through a previously hidden door. Stiles did a double-take at seeing Erica dressed in a nice but simple dress, her wild blond hair up and tamed beneath a small, hood-like cloth cap. She was followed through the door by a man, and Stiles was shocked even further to see who it was.

“I’ll go get Her Majesty ready for the day,” Erica said demurely, gaze diverted down and to the side, away from Stiles. She gave a low curtsy, then quickly moved around him and towards the bedchamber, pulling a curtain across the archway. 

Stiles barely paid her any attention, though, his eyes locked on The Devil standing beside the tapestry that housed the hidden door. “What are _you_ doing here?” Stiles hissed, stepping closer. Gone were The Devil’s usual, provocative clothing choices, the only leather in this outfit comprising his boots. He wore simple, drab clothing, but still he managed to fill everything out in a way that had Stiles’ gaze wandering. 

“I’m here to dress you, Majesty,” replied The Devil, smirking even as he bowed. 

“I can’t really see Satan taking a second job as a servant. Why are you _really_ here?” Stiles eyed him suspiciously, crossing his arms. 

Pale eyes looking up at Stiles through thick, black lashes, The Devil’s smirk smoothed into a smile. “It’s my job to see to it that you’re happy. And, please, call me Derek. I’m told I look like a Derek.”

Stiles considered him for a moment, then glanced back at the tapestry of himself and the dragon. “That’s you, isn’t it? You’re the dragon curled at my feet?”

That made The Devil--Derek--smile wider, his eyes glinting in honest delight. “Caught that?” He nodded a little as he moved closer, hands reaching out to begin unlacing the collar of Stiles’ sleep gown. It was an unnecessary action, as far as Stiles could tell, because the collar was plenty wide enough to slip it over his head. He tried to maintain his firmness and suspicion, but Derek’s fingers were brushing against his collarbone, and he was standing so close that Stiles could feel his warmth, and it was…distracting. “I’ll be at your side through all of this,” Derek assured softly, hands moving down to graze along Stiles’ body as he rucked up the gown’s fabric to slip it up and off. “I’m yours. At your beck and call.”

Swallowing, Stiles tried to remind himself who and what this man was. He looked towards the curtained archway, once freed of his gown, and forced himself to ignore that he was evidently completely nude. Lydia was beyond that thin curtain. _She_ was the one Stiles wanted, not this demon in the form of a man.

Derek dressed him quietly, and Stiles blocked out the touch of his hands and the sounds of his light breathing. He focused only on Lydia and how beautiful she looked lying there beside him when he’d woken up. She was his queen, literally. It was amazing. As Derek adorned him with jewelry for the finishing touches, Stiles finally looked back at him, feeling a little guilty for having been so mean to the source of his newfound happiness.

“Thank you,” Stiles said softly, startling Derek from his task, warm fingers on the back of Stiles’ neck where Derek was clasping the ornate necklace. “I doubted you, but you rearranged reality for me, just so I could find happiness. This is incredible. Thank you.”

Derek seemed speechless for a moment, body frozen in place. Stiles noticed that they were nearly the exact same height, their eyes almost perfectly aligned. “It’s what I do,” Derek eventually responded, sliding his hands back around to the front of the necklace to make sure it was situated just right. “It’s my job.”

“I didn’t think it was The Devil’s job to make people happy,” said Stiles, tilting his head a little in confusion. That truly went against anything he’d read or been told, but Derek seemed sincere in his words. Then again, was Satan not the Prince of Lies? 

“That isn’t what I said,” Derek corrected, but he didn’t elaborate. Instead, he just took a step back to take a better look at Stiles, then nodded in approval. “You look like a true king.”

Looking down at his attire, Stiles couldn’t deny that he seemed to have stepped right out of a painting from the Middle Ages. “It’s hot and stuffy,” he complained, tugging at his collar. 

Tsking, Derek batted his hand away. “Stop that. You’re a king, now; behave as one. Shoulders back, head high. You are a little god amongst men.” 

“Little, huh?” Stiles smirked, and Derek rolled his eyes despite obviously trying to fight his amusement. 

“Your Majesty?” Erica inquired from the other side of the curtain, her voice filled with hesitant caution. 

Stiles double-checked that everything was in place, and then he turned towards the curtain with a warm, “We are dressed.”

Beside him, Derek snorted and whispered, “The royal ‘we?’ Really?” 

“It’s super classy.”

“Of course,” chuckled Derek, who quickly bit his lip when Erica drew the curtain back and announced the queen. 

Lydia was dazzling. She looked like a goddess more than a queen, and Stiles felt himself falling in love all over again as he looked upon her. He stepped forward and held out his hand for hers, which she took with a curtsy and a smile. “Good morrow,” she greeted, sweet as honey. 

“Good morrow,” Stiles replied, kissing her soft, white hand. “Will my lovely queen be joining me for the council meeting?”

Her eyes widened just a little, as if thrown by his question but doing her best to maintain her regal composure. She was truly made for this, Stiles thought, unlike him. “My king wishes me to attend?”

“Why not,” he asked with a shrug. “We’re married, aren’t we? We should rule the kingdom together, as partners.”

Lydia’s painted lips parted, but she quickly hid her shock with a smile. “As my king desires.”

As they turned to leave, Stiles could feel Derek staring at him, and wondered if he was doing something wrong. He tried not to let it bother him--after all, he was the king! Their respective servants trailed behind them as they made their way through the massive, labyrinthine castle and to the council room. Before they could enter, Derek and Erica slid respectfully by them to announce them to the room.

By that point, Stiles wasn’t surprised to see Isaac and Jackson waiting there with Boyd. Isaac was sat a little to the side, a giant records book opened in front of him and quill in hand. Jackson stood beside Boyd at the large table that dominated the room, maps spread across its surface and little wooden figures scattered about. The dragon emblazoned on Jackson’s breastplate only had one head, and a far shorter neck. It looked more like a dragon-man rearing back to strike. His armor was a different style than Boyd’s, as well.

“Majesty,” greeted Jackson, bowing more towards Lydia than Stiles. 

Before Stiles could comment on it, Derek subtly moved closer and whispered, “Sir Whittemore is of Queen Lydia’s homeland, here as an emissary.” Stiles cast him a grateful smile, glad that he had a lifeline even while being cast into the deep end. 

“Your Majesty,” said Boyd with a bow, “we need to discuss the invasion.”

A jolt went down Stiles’ spine, causing him to stutter in his step. “Invasion?”

Jackson eyed him sternly from across the table. “You’re not going back on the arrangement now, are you?” It was obvious he was trying to withhold a sneer. “Our nations sealed this pact with your marriage, _sire_.”

Stiles threw a desperate glance back at Derek, but he was no longer there. At some point, both Derek and Erica had slipped out of the room, leaving the council to themselves. Swallowing, Stiles turned his attention to the table, taking in the map and pieces. He could do this. He just had to think of it as a strategy game. Except...people were going to die. 

“ _Why_ are we invading?” he asked, scanning the nations and determining which was his based on the dragon sigil. “What have they done to offend us to the extent of invasion?” 

Jackson looked livid. “They took land that was ours. _You_ swore to help us reclaim that land.”

Cringing, Stiles nodded and began forming strategies in his mind. “I’ll do what I can to stick to the bargain, Sir Whittemore. You’ve no need to worry.”

\---

After hours of war talk, Stiles had to sit through a seemingly endless line of subjects bringing various disputes and complaints to him. This he did alone, without Lydia, just Isaac sitting off to the side recording everything while Derek lurked against a wall in case Stiles needed anything. It was beyond exhausting, and Stiles actually missed his tedious tech support job. 

The sun was starting to droop in the sky by the time Stiles was able to make his way back to his chambers. Sweat was seeped into his velvet doublet, and he wanted to strip down and take a bath. A familiar voice giggling softly brought Stiles to a shuffling halt outside a door left ajar. 

There was a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach as he moved closer, even before he could clearly hear or see what was happening. He heard Jackson’s name sighed sweetly and tenderly, and bile rose in Stiles’ throat. 

“Must we?” Lydia whispered. 

“You saw him,” Jackson replied, not keeping his voice as cautiously lowered. “He’s weak. He’ll back out before going to war. We _have_ to move forward with the plan.”

“He wavered at first, yes, but then his strategies were sound.”

“Are you saying you want to remain married to him?”

“Of course not. Jackson, you know how I feel…”

Stiles couldn’t take any more of it, and he pushed the door open to reveal himself. He looked at Lydia with such a strong, sharp sense of betrayal. Jackson’s armor was gone, the knight decked only in a linen tunic and woven leather pants. Lydia and Jackson were pressed closely, her tiny hand clinging to the soft fabric of Jackson’s tunic. 

They didn’t even have the courtesy to move away from each other once they saw Stiles standing there. He looked between them, processed their words and realized exactly what they were conspiring to do. “Are you in love with him?” he heard himself ask, looking into Lydia’s beautiful eyes and seeing nothing but pity reflected back at him.

She didn’t even hesitate before nodding, even as her eyes watered and she no doubt assumed this meant both hers and Jackson’s deaths. 

Feeling tired and defeated, Stiles said the only thing he could think to say: “Nic Cage is a great actor.”

\---

Stiles found himself in The Devil’s office again, feeling all his broken pieces slowly getting glued back together with anger. “Did you plan that?” he asked, accusation dripping in his tone as he turned towards the massive desk and the man sitting behind it. 

The Devil looked back at him, face neutral, but something a little sad in his eyes. “Of course not. I merely gave you what you wished for. I can’t control what actions everyone takes within the world I weave.”

All of the tension drained out of Stiles and he moved to drop himself heavily onto one of the guest chairs. “They were going to kill me,” he choked, burying his face in his hands. 

“People never realize what kind of a job it really is to be king,” The Devil said softly. 

Shaking his head, Stiles looked up at him. “It was horrible. I mean, I could have kept it up as long as I had Lydia, but… Christ.”

The Devil considered him silently for a moment. “Perhaps you should take that into consideration for your next wish,” he suggested.

Stiles nodded, trying to tell himself to brush off this failure, to remind himself he had five more chances at figuring out what would make his life perfect. How many people have that sort of opportunity? This was an amazing chance, and he needed to focus so that he didn’t waste it. “Right,” he agreed, nodding harder. “You’re absolutely right.”

He stood up and shook all the negativity off through this arms, loosening his muscles and clearing his head. “Right,” he repeated. “Let’s do this. Okay, so for my next wish, I need to think about this more, instead of just rushing into anything.”

“Absolutely,” The Devil agreed, smiling proudly up at him. 

“So, okay, obviously I want a job that I’ll enjoy. And one that people will like me for. Something that makes people happy.” Stiles was starting to feel a little thrill of excitement at the prospect. “I want to be successful at it, because I still want to make sure I have the means to give Lydia the lifestyle she loves.” 

A thought came to him, and he spun to face The Devil, face flushed with excitement as he set his hands on the desk. He was practically leaning all the way across it, almost in The Devil’s space. “I’ve got it,” Stiles breathed with a beaming grin. “I wish that I was a successful author. Like, J. K. Rowling successful.”

The Devil smiled back at him. “As you wish.”

\---

It was a coffee shop this time, and Stiles smiled happily at the opened laptop in front of him, the words of a fantasy novel looking back at him. 

“Your order,” The Devil said softly from over his shoulder, reaching around him to carefully set the mug beside the laptop on the small table. 

When Stiles turned his head, he saw a nametag sporting the name “Derek.” “Cute,” said Stiles, indicating the name, but a second later realizing how that could be taken. Cheeks flushing, he looked up at Derek’s face, getting caught up in his laughing eyes. 

“So are you,” murmured Derek with a wink before he stepped away to return to work making coffee.

Stiles caught himself watching Derek’s ass as he walked away, and forced his attention back to the glowing screen. For a while, he just let himself get wrapped up in writing, thrilling in how the words flowed out of him so effortlessly. He was only peripherally aware of the cafe around him, his world mostly narrowed to the perfect cup of coffee Derek had made him and the story he was crafting. 

He didn’t even notice when someone took the seat across from him. “Excuse me,” Lydia’s sweet voice called gently, breaking into his thoughts. 

God, she was beautiful. The low-hanging sun backlit her through the window, setting her hair on fire and making her creamy skin look absolutely radiant. Stiles was struck dumb for a moment, unable to do anything but stare like a fool. 

“Hi,” she greeted, smiling at him in a way he’d never seen her smile before. “I’m Lydia. I hope I’m not intruding, but I was told you’re _the_ Stiles Stilinski.” She knew his name. She knew his full name, and she got it _right_. 

“I… Yeah, I’m he. That’s me. I’m Stiles.” He reached out so quickly to shake her hand that he nearly knocked over his thankfully empty coffee mug. “You’ve read my novels?”

Her smile faltered a little, and she turned her face slightly away as if playing coy. “Well, to be honest, I’ve only seen one of the movies.”

That was fine, Stiles would totally take it. After all, it was better than a forced political marriage and an assassination plot. “What type of books do you like to read?” he asked, eager to learn more about her and to open up a dialogue. 

Lydia paused for a moment, as if gauging whether or not Stiles was sincere, but then she dove right into telling him all about exactly who she enjoyed reading and why. They weren’t authors that Stiles had ever heard of, but he could tell by what she said that they mostly dealt with non-fiction. It was amazing to watch her face light up as she talked, but at the same time Stiles felt an overwhelming sense of disappointment. 

“What about George R. R. Martin?” Stiles attempted, during a lull in Lydia’s happy ranting. “Tolkien? Terry Brooks?” Like, seriously, had she never read _any_ fantasy?

She popped her lips, still doing her best to smile winningly. “I’m sorry, can you hold that thought? I’m just really thirsty, and should probably go order a coffee before they kick me out for loitering.” Giggling a little at her own attempt at lightening the mood, she rose gracefully from her seat and made her way towards the counter. 

Stiles watched her go, then looked quickly away at Derek’s questioning glance. He stared blankly at the screen of his laptop, all of his previous inspiration having abandoned him. This time, all he could focus on were the sounds around him, hyper-aware of everything happening in the small cafe. 

He wasn’t even surprised when he heard Lydia talking to someone else with a flirty voice, every word filled with interest. Without turning around to bear witness, he softly said, “Nic Cage is a great actor.”

\---

“What was it this time?” The Devil asked, coming up to put his hands on the back of Stiles’ chair. Once again he was in the office, the large desk in front of him. He felt like a failure.

“She wasn’t interested in me,” sighed Stiles, leaning back against the chair and feeling strangely comforted by the warmth of The Devil’s hands as they slid to his shoulders. “The only reason she even approached me was because I was famous.”

“But, before she came, you were happy.” The Devil looked down at him in confusion, giving his shoulders massaging little squeezes that helped to melt away the tension. “You could have stayed in that wish and found your happiness with someone else.”

“No,” objected Stiles, shaking his head despondently even as he enjoyed The Devil’s touch. “It has to be her. She’s the _one_ , man. I can just tell.”

“Can you?” The Devil asked, withdrawing his hands and moving to put the desk between them. “How do you know? I mean, do you even know anything about her?” He shot Stiles a disbelieving look as he lowered himself into his impressive chair, clearly ready to dismiss Stiles’ love for Lydia as nothing more than a foolish crush.

“I do, actually.” Stiles hunched forward, glaring. “I know she’s smart. Like, insanely smart. A fucking _genius_. She’s head of R &D, and created our latest operating system.”

“Impressive.” The Devil did not look impressed. “So, you know as much about her as anyone with Google can find out.”

“You don’t have to know every little thing about a person to know you’re in love with them, alright? There’s a spark that lets you know. Like, you can just tell that you could spend the rest of your life getting to know that person.” 

The Devil still looked skeptical. “And you think Lydia Martin is that person for you.”

“Of course!” Why wouldn’t she be? She was perfect!

With a defeated sigh, The Devil scowled at his desk. “Fine, then make your next wish so you can get on with living your perfect little life with her.”

“Fine,” snapped Stiles, not even sure why he was suddenly so angry. “I wish that I was rich and successful, with a job that’s in Lydia’s field.”

With a sneering smile, The Devil said, “As you wish.”

\---

It was Wolf Fire. Everything about the building was the same, except that Stiles’ photo was framed and hung on the wall with all of the CEOs the company ever had. Jackson followed him like a puppy when Stiles passed him. He was obviously trying to curry favor, complimenting Stiles’ tie and suit and not-so-subtly slipping in updates about how great his department’s been doing since Jackson became supervisor. For the most part, Stiles ignored him, until Jackson got the hint and scurried off. Once Stiles reached his office, he was not surprised at all to find The Devil sitting at the desk outside his door, serving as his secretary. “You,” he snapped. “In my office. Now.”

As soon as they were both inside, the door securely closed, Stiles rounded on The Devil with fury coursing through his veins. “What makes you think this is a good idea?” he snarled, advancing until he was right in The Devil’s face. “You made me her _boss_.”

The Devil’s cool composure slipped, his face darkening into a firm scowl. He closed the distance between them, forcing Stiles to step back. Still, he didn’t stop until Stiles’ legs hit his desk and he nearly fell backwards upon it. “I gave you what you wished for,” The Devil said with a quiet, cool voice, arms moving to bracket Stiles in against the desk. “You wanted to be rich and successful in her field. This is her field. And, now, you’re the richest and most successful person in it.”

Breath coming a little heavy, Stiles tried not to let himself feel intimidated. Stiles pressed firmly at The Devil’s chest in an attempt to get him to back away, but it was as effective as pushing a brick wall. “If I try anything with her, I could get sued for sexual harassment,” he seethed. “Your wish-granting skills are _shit_.”

A growl rumbled up from The Devil’s chest, vibrating against Stiles’ hands where they remained splayed. “Maybe it’s _your_ wishing skills that are shit. Ever consider that?”

“My wishing skills are awesome. You’re the one who keeps twisting things so nothing works out right!”

That seemed to strike The Devil where it hurt, because he flinched before snarling, “Maybe it just means that you’re trying to force something that could never work in the first place.”

“But wasn’t that your pitch?” Stiles went back to pressing insistently against The Devil’s chest, surprised when this time it worked. The Devil stepped back and turned away, his entire body taut with anger. “You offered me a chance to have a different life, one that wasn’t originally meant to be. This was supposed to be a way of finding happiness, you said. So far, you’ve made me feel worse than when we started.”

“That isn’t my fault!” The Devil spun back around to face Stiles, eyes flashing red for a second. “You can’t blame _me_ just because she doesn’t react exactly how you want. I can’t control people, I can only change their situations. Free will is not something I have the power to take away.”

“I don’t want her free will taken from her,” Stiles practically yelled, feeling sick at the very thought. “I want her to love me for who I am. I want her to love me because she chooses to!”

The Devil looked as if he was about to say something, but he closed his mouth and clenched his jaw. For a long moment, he stared over Stiles’ shoulder out the large window overlooking the city. When he finally spoke, his voice was calmer than it had been. “Then try again, with a different wish. Create an opportunity for her to get to know you. Maybe something low-pressure.”

Stiles tried to cling to his anger, but The Devil had a good point. Maybe Stiles had been going about this the wrong way. “A situation where we could build our relationship,” he agreed, nodding a little. “Maybe start as just friends, until she realizes that we can be more.”

“You’ll have to end this one, first,” The Devil reminded him. 

“Right.” Stiles looked at The Devil, meeting his eyes. “Nic Cage is a great actor.”

\---

“I wish,” he said, the office around him transformed to the now familiar red, black, and steel, “to have a happy life and successful career, where I have the opportunity to meet Lydia and start our relationship off as friends.”

The Devil searched Stiles’ eyes for a moment, before softly saying, “As you wish.”

\---

It was a trendy wine bar, and evidently a party to celebrate its grand opening. Everyone was congratulating Stiles, gushing about how amazing everything looked, and how they just know it’ll be a hit since he already had several successful restaurants. 

“Obviously you know what you’re doing!” Erica said with a laugh and a wink. Stiles wondered what she did in this reality, because he doubted she’d be able to afford a place like this or a dress like that just from working tech support.

Boyd was on her arm, looking like some famous actor or musician, sunglasses on even in the dim bar light. Stiles smiled at them, chatted for a bit, then pressed on through the crowd. It was weird seeing them like that. Something about it felt off, felt fake. 

He spotted The Devil in the throng, and stopped short when he saw the man’s face light up upon making eye contact. There was a strange, fluttery feeling in his chest as he watched The Devil slip through the crowd and towards Stiles, a bright smile on his lips. Suddenly strong arms were wrapping around him, pulling up flush against that amazing body, and The Devil was planting a small kiss on Stiles’ lips that had Stiles swaying. 

“There you are,” The Devil purred. “Come, meet some of our guests.”

“What’s going on?” Stiles breathed out in something too weak to be a whisper. 

The Devil shifted back enough to take Stiles’ left hand in his own, bringing it up for Stiles to see the gold band glinting there. “You live a happily married life, and are wonderfully successful in your career. Just like you wished.”

Stiles stared at the ring, finding it a little hard to breathe, but not for the reasons he would have assumed. “Being married wasn’t part of the wish,” he said weakly, still unable to look away from the ring. 

“No,” The Devil agreed, leaning closer and nuzzling at his ear, voice dropped quiet enough for only Stiles to hear. “But, you wanted to have the opportunity to start off as friends with her, wanted it to be something free of pressure and expectations. This way, she’ll feel safer and more comfortable with you, thinking that you’re already happily in a relationship with me. Besides…” Stiles felt The Devil’s smirk and heard it in his voice. “Don’t women always seem to want what they can’t have?”

Looking over The Devil’s shoulder, Stiles spotted Lydia watching them. She had a speculative gleam in her eye as she seemed to be sizing one or both of them up. Stiles knew that The Devil was right, and this would probably work. He could go over there right now and talk to her, strike up a conversation as friends. Stiles foresaw years of relationship-building, of dinners and outings and moments of laughter and inside jokes. It would be simple at first, safe and comfortable, just as The Devil said, but eventually it could become something more complicated. He was sure that The Devil would easily bow out when that happened, granting Stiles a quiet divorce and a sincere blessing. 

Something roiled in his guts, and he closed his eyes. 

“I can’t do this,” he whispered. “Infidelity isn’t something I’m capable of. I can’t.”

The Devil pulled back to study his face, brows crinkling together. “But, what we have isn’t actually-”

“Nic Cage is a great actor.”

\---

Stiles felt as if he’d been flayed alive, sitting there in The Devil’s office and looking at him from across the desk. It hurt worse, somehow, than finding Lydia and Jackson conspiring over his death. “I hate these wishes,” he said weakly, gaze dropping to his hands in his lap. “They feel hollow. Fake. Like everything is a lie.”

“It’s not a lie. It’s just...changed. The world is rearranged to suit your wish, that’s all. Everyone is still themselves, just placed in different situations.”

“I don’t want her to fall in love with a lie.”

The Devil shifted in his chair, leaning slightly forward over his desk. The motion drew Stiles’ attention back to him, and for some reason it hurt to look into his eyes. “She could have met the real you, in that last one. Just because you were a successful restaurateur doesn’t mean you weren’t still _you_.”

“But it would still have been a lie,” Stiles insisted. “That’s not me. The real me has no interest in owning a restaurant. I’m not some elite socialite, schmoozing at parties. I want to be honest with her.”

Leaning back again in his chair, The Devil regarded Stiles with a tilt of his head. “Use that in your next wish, then. You only have two left. Better make them count.”

Stiles swallowed and looked away, his mind a jumble. “I wish,” he said slowly, trying to lay his thoughts out into an order he could read. “I wish that she and I grew up together as friends, and that we were always honest with each other, no matter what.”

“As you wish,” said The Devil, and if his voice sounded a little sad, Stiles wasn’t given the time to analyze it. 

\---

They were cuddled up, sharing a blanket on the couch while watching _The Notebook_ , because it was Lydia’s turn to choose the movie. All around him, the apartment was a mishmash of his and her things, implying that they’d been living together for a while. Stiles sat there with his arms around her, her head tucked under his chin, and he wondered about how life was with her as his friend there in San Francisco. If maybe he wasn’t so lonely anymore.

He wondered if he had the same job, or if they worked more closely together somewhere. How much of this world had been altered for him? What role would The Devil play this time? Maybe a neighbor. He felt himself smile a little at the thought, imagining how they could pester each other. 

“You’re a million miles away,” Lydia complained goodnaturedly. “What are you thinking about?

“Nothing,” he assured, giving her a little squeeze. “Just happy.”

She pulled out of his embrace and moved to face him, smiling. “Me, too. I’m always happy when I’m with you.”

Her words made his chest fill with warmth, and he reached out to tuck a stray lock behind her ear. Lydia leaned into the touch, eyes fluttering closed for a moment before opening and locking with his. “Stiles,” she said softly. “Do you ever think that maybe...we could be more than friends?”

Stiles opened his mouth to say yes, to accept her open invitation and finally get what he’d wanted for so long. The words refused to come, however, and he stared at her with a growing sense of dread. Honesty. His wish had been for complete and total honesty, and in that moment he realized that she wasn’t actually whom he wanted. Maybe she never had been. All he ever really loved was the idea of her. 

“I think I’m falling for someone else,” he heard his voice confess, terrified by his own admission. 

As he watched her expression crumble, he softly strained out the words, “Nic Cage is a great actor.”

\---

“Stiles?” The Devil’s voice was soft and hesitant, as if he was worried that he’d scare Stiles away if it was too loud. “What happened? Wasn’t it just what you wanted?”

“Yes,” he mumbled, “and no.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. You still have one wish, though. One more chance to try.”

Stiles shook his head and looked up at The Devil. “This won’t work. I can’t do this.”

The Devil looked pained, face cringing, eyes downcast. “You must. You signed the contract. Therefore, you must make your last wish.”

“What would _you_ wish for?” he asked, startling The Devil. “If you had one wish, what would it be?”

For a long moment, he was certain that The Devil wasn’t going to answer. Then, slowly, The Devil rose from his chair and began to pace the office, frowning as if he were debating something with himself. “I am not allowed to tell you this,” he started, casting Stiles a wary glance. “But, I’ve already been bending the rules when it comes to you.”

Those words made Stiles’ heart leap, and The Devil paused in his step as if he’d heard. “My position is a title,” he went on to explain, “little more. A title that I did not ask for, and a job I did not want. But, I was created for this, made only for this task. I had no choice in the matter.”

“Free will,” Stiles said softly, stunned, “is a human thing.”

The Devil nodded at him, eyes so unfathomably sad. “Yet, I am still capable of thinking for myself, of rational thought. I often wonder why I was given that, because it seems cruel. I’m forced to do something that I can’t stand, forced to test humans and see good people break. I can feel sympathy and empathy and love, but I can do little to help, only hurt.”

“So, this...all of this was a test? Some game created to _hurt_ me?” The words tasted acrid on Stiles’ tongue, as if they were made of the bile he could feel rising in his throat.

“You asked what my wish would be,” said The Devil, looking nothing in that moment like the fierce demon he was claimed to be in stories. “I’d wish to be free of this, to be human. I’m tired of watching people ignoring the potential of their own lives and waste it all on false hope. I want to have my own opportunity to find happiness, for myself.”

Stiles stared at him, heart stuck and bleeding. He felt like a fool. “I wish for that,” he said with barely any air in his lungs to power the words. “I wish for you to be human and have a chance at making your own happiness.”

The Devil’s eyes went wide, before his expression went lax in defeat. “You just voided your contract.”

“I don’t care about that,” Stiles insisted, shaking his head and rising out of his chair. “I don’t care about any more fucking wishes for myself. That doesn’t matter.”

“No,” The Devil said simply, meeting Stiles’ eyes again before dropping his gaze. “You wished for something I cannot do, which is one of the stipulations in the contract. If I am unable to deliver upon the requirements of the wish, the contract becomes void. You’re free. Your soul is still yours.”

“Fuck my soul,” Stiles seethed, moving closer and grabbing The Devil by his biceps, gripping tight. “Are you saying you’re literally _trapped_ in this? That there’s no way of freeing you?”

The Devil looked at him, lifting a hand to caress his cheek, expression almost awed. “You really care about that,” he said as if it was some great epiphany. 

“Of fucking _course_ I care!”

“Why?” asked The Devil, looking entirely thrown by Stiles’ vehemence. 

“Because it’s _wrong_! You don’t deserve to be trapped in this life, doing things you hate. Everyone deserves a chance at happiness.”

Suddenly Stiles was being kissed, The Devil’s arms sliding around him and hugging him close, almost desperately. The lips pressing against his own urged Stiles to open to them, and he obeyed with a groan. It felt like a spark crackled through Stiles, and he clung to The Devil while kissing back just as hungrily. When they eventually pulled apart, they were both panting.

They pressed their foreheads together, neither one eager to separate. “Promise me you’ll find your happiness,” The Devil whispered into the small space between them. 

Stiles made an embarrassing sound and leaned in to nuzzle at The Devil’s neck. “Shut up. If you’re going to tell me that this is it, that we’ll never see each other again, then just shut up.”

The Devil withdrew his arms, and slowly pulled Stiles’ hands off of his person. “I’m sorry,” he said softly, sincerely, ducking his head to get Stiles to look back up and make eye contact. “You’ll be fine without me,” he assured gently. 

Stiles didn’t think he would. Already he could feel a rip at his core, a tearing that would surely break him open. “I can sell you my soul again,” he said in a rush, trying to think of a way to stay there with him. 

“You can’t. It doesn’t work that way.” The Devil smiled sadly at him and backed away, until he was out of arm’s reach. “Good-bye, Stiles.”

\---

“No,” he told his bedroom ceiling, eyes burning and breath turned to shards of ice in his throat. Beside him, his alarm clock blared, but all Stiles could hear was The Devil’s sad, quiet voice.

When he got to work, he saw Lydia in the lobby. There was nothing, no stutter of his heart, no sweaty palms, no somersaulting stomach. He walked up to her, somehow able to find a polite smile. “Ms. Martin,” he greeted, unsurprised when she looked at him without even a hint of recognition. 

“I’m sorry to bother you. I work here in tech support, and I heard that Harrison in R&D was leaving soon. Since there’s an opening, I was hoping you could give me some consideration.” He held out a usb flash drive, which she took with a curious head tilt. “That’s a copy of one of the programs I’ve been working on in my spare time. I have a Master’s in computer science, and I’m fully qualified. My resume’s on there, too, just in case HR doesn’t still have it on file here.”

Lydia smiled at him and gave a nod. “Sounds good. I’ll definitely give it a look, since we prefer promoting from within, instead of bringing someone totally new on board. What was your name, again?”

“Stiles,” he said, reaching out to shake her hand. “Stiles Stilinski.”

Her eyes lit up with sudden recognition. “I met you before, right? You were at the bar.”

“Right,” he agreed. Then before her former enthusiasm had a chance to sour, he hurried on to explain, “Sorry if I came across as a bit awkward. That was my pathetic attempt at schmoozing. I’m afraid I’m not so great at it.” He scratched the back of his neck and laughed, relieved when she giggled along with him. 

“It’s no problem, Stiles; not everyone’s great at networking. Most of my department prefer computers over people, anyway. I’ll be sure to review this and get back to you soon, okay?” She smiled at him before turning to head off to the elevators. 

He watched her go, feeling a heaviness lift from his shoulders. After a moment, he went to the elevators to make his way slowly to his own department. When he quietly went straight to his desk, a few people cast him curious glances. By the end of the day, Isaac had stopped by his desk three times to ask if he was alright. Jackson had demanded to know if he was sick and needed to go home. Boyd had silently left him a giant mug of steaming tea. 

Erica frowned at him while on the elevator back down to the lobby. “Were you dumped?” she asked bluntly. “You look like you just got dumped.”

“In a way,” Stiles agreed mildly, staring ahead at the metal doors instead of at her. 

“That sucks,” she commiserated. 

He responded with a little hum. Once the elevator reached the ground floor, she breezed through the opening doors and looked back at him over her shoulder. “Don’t worry about getting me that new blouse,” she said. “I didn’t like that other one, anyway.” 

As he left work, his feet carried him towards Mission Dolores Park instead of home, mind too restless to call it a day just yet. Part of him was trying to tell himself it was just a dream, and that he should forget it. He knew it had all been real, though, every moment of it. How was Stiles supposed to just forget about him? All he could think about was every shared glance and mutual smirk and the way they had been able to slip easily into their banter. His mind replayed every touch, and every moment where Stiles had found comfort in The Devil’s presence. 

A lacrosse ball flew out of nowhere and struck him in the side of the head.

“Crap, dude, I’m _so_ sorry!” cried a distressed voice coming from the direction the ball had originated. A tan guy with a crooked jaw and floppy dark hair trotted up to him, giving him sad puppy eyes. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Stiles assured, trying to wave him off even as he clutched his head and felt a bump forming. Fuck, that had hurt. He was pretty sure his brain was still rattling about a little.

“C’mon, at least sit down for a moment,” the stranger insisted, shifting his crosse to one hand and using his other to guide Stiles to a nearby bench. “Sorry again, man.”

“It’s really not a problem. Just as much my fault for not paying attention to anything around me.” He hissed in pain and wondered if he should buy some ice cream just to smush it against the bump. 

“Dude, you _did_ seem kind of out of it. You wanna talk about it?” The stranger rubbed his back soothingly, his chocolate eyes looking at him with open, honest kindness. “Sometimes it helps to talk.”

Maybe it was because this guy was a stranger, maybe because he seemed genuinely nice, or maybe it was just because Stiles was so weighed down with everything that he finally broke. Whatever the case, the story poured from his mouth, every insane detail. It must have seemed crazy to that stranger, listening to Stiles ramble about devils and wishes. His face never seemed judgemental, though, just sympathetic and understanding.

“That’s a wild story, bro,” the stranger said once it was all done. He patted Stiles gently on the back then gripped his shoulder. “But, I mean… Let’s say your wish had worked, right? If this devil guy _had_ been freed. What’s to guarantee that he’d spend his human life with you? Maybe he’d go off to the other side of the world, carve out a whole different life. You still might never have seen him again, bro.”

Stiles stared at him, then looked out over the park, watching people run around and laugh and snuggle and yell. Just humans being free, living their lives. They were all there because they chose to be. “That’s not what’s important,” he said softly. “That wasn’t what mattered to me the most, and wasn’t why I made that wish. If I learned anything from the previous wishes, it was that you can’t try to force people into living out a life that _you_ want for them. Choice, free will, they’re important. They’re the only way to find real happiness. I just wanted him to have that chance, to be able to get his own happiness.” 

He turned to face the stranger. “It’s not about me, about my wants. I don’t think real love is, you know. I think...I think it’s about wanting to see the other person happy. Even if that means they find their happiness somewhere else, with someone else.”

The stranger looked thoughtful for a moment, then smiled and nodded, clapping Stiles on the shoulder before standing up. “Wise words, bro. I think you’re right. I also think you shouldn’t worry too much.” When Stiles frowned up at him, he just grinned back, wide and bright. “Things have a way of working themselves out,” he continued. “Just because he didn’t have the power, doesn’t mean no one else does. Besides, you said it was a title, right? Doesn’t that imply maybe he wasn’t the first? Think about it.”

Stiles blinked up at him, squinting against the sinking sun that half-hid behind the stranger’s head like a tilted halo. Before he could respond, the stranger was running off with a wink and a wave.

\---

It was nearly dark by the time Stiles made it home, and the lights were on in the townhouse next to his. He paused at his door, looking at the glowing windows, confused. That townhouse had been empty the entire time he lived there. Someone must have finally moved in, he figured with a little shrug. Just as he unlocked his door, the neighboring one flew open.

Stiles’ keys fell to the concrete steps at his feet as he locked eyes with his new neighbor. “Hi,” said a voice Stiles was certain he’d never hear again. The man smiled wide, looking unbelievably happy, and it drew Stiles closer. “I’m Derek.”


End file.
